Scented Memory
by pokeitlikejello
Summary: A brief look into Cuddy's relationship with her father.


**A/N:** Written for cuddy_fest over at LJ. Prompt: Cuddy, gen. Cigarettes. And a special thanks to my wonderful beta ashley_west over at LJ.

* * *

It was ten years ago, at least, when she was meeting them for dinner. Of course, she was there first because her mother could never be on time, a trait her sister inherited. Cuddy almost said 'smoking' when the waitress asked which section they'd prefer, but then she remembered her father wouldn't be there.

As she followed the waitress to the booth, she wished her father was attending the all-girls lunch. Even though she enjoyed the company when it was just herself, her mother and her sister, she did miss her father. She was a daddy's girl, no doubt, and his absence in the presence of family always ached a bit.

That's why the divorce a year later really hit her hard. It's not like she never saw it coming. Her parents' relationship was always teetering on the edge of a cliff. They balanced it well, being home for their children, but never really being their for each other.

Once the kids left the house, they had nothing to hold them together. The life they created was thrown off balance and they went over the cliff to the bottom hell of divorce.

When Cuddy would visit at his new bachelor pad, there was always one thing she could count on—the smell of his cigarettes. Her mother never let him smoke in the house, so when he moved into his own place, he made sure he could smoke in it.

But, no matter how much he smoked, no daughter of his was ever going to start. Cuddy learned that when she was fifteen.

.

_She inhaled the nicotine and coughed slightly. She wasn't used to it, but she liked it so far. After all, her friends thought it was cool and besides, her dad smoked. And she hoped one day they could smoke together._

"_Lisa?"_

_But that day wasn't today and she quickly dropped the cigarette and put it out._

_Her father knew, without even needing to smell the smoke. He could see it by the look on her face. She felt guilty because she knew that cigarettes were bad and she wasn't suppose to smoke them, but at the time, she didn't care._

"_In." Her father stepped back, giving her room to enter the house through the back door. "Now."_

"_What?" she asked, trying to wipe the guilt off her face._

"_Don't 'what' me." He closed the door. "Cigarettes? Shall I go get your mother?"_

"_No," she answered._

"_Where'd you get them?" He sounded a bit more curious than angry._

_She shrugged, not wanting to give up her source. "From a friend."_

"_You won't smoke." He pointed a finger, his tone becoming firmer now._

"_You smoke," she responded, lifting her eyebrows._

"_And it's killing me," he said. "You trying to kill yourself?"_

"_No," she replied._

"_Then quit the cigarettes before they do kill you," her father warned her. "You don't want to turn into your ol' man, do you?"_

"_I guess not." She lowered her eyes to the ground._

"_You want to be fat and balding?" He tried to lighten the mood._

_She lifted her eyes to him. "No."_

"_Then don't smoke," he told her. "And if I catch you with a cigarette again, I'll get your mom involved and then you'll really want to start smoking. She'll drive you to the point where death by cigarettes won't be fast enough."_

"_Dad." She shook her head, trying not to smile._

"_Give 'em here."_

_He held out his hand and she gave him the half empty pack of cigarettes._

"_You'll thank me one day," he said. "Now, get upstairs and get to bed. And don't run into your mother, God forbid. She'll smell that smoke on you like a dog."_

"_Okay." She nodded. "Goodnight, Dad."_

"_Goodnight."_

_She headed toward the hallway._

"_Lisa?"_

_She turned, eyes landing on her father. "Yeah?"_

"_I'm telling you this 'cause I love you." His eyes locked with hers. "And I'm not telling your mom 'cause I love you even more than that. We're adults here, right?"_

"_Right," she agreed with another nod._

"_Night, hun."_

"_Night."_

_.  
_

She never smoked after that night. She didn't want to let her father down. And now, well, it didn't matter what she did because she couldn't let him down. He was dead.

It was early in her workday when she got the phone call. It was her sister. Immediately, Cuddy knew something was wrong. Dory never called her at work. She sat down behind her desk and drew in a deep breath, listening.

"I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you, Lise. Dad passed away. He had a heart attack."

"Heart attack?" Cuddy repeated weakly.

"Yeah," Dory replied. "There's going to be a funeral and burial back home. You should get there when you can. Mom said we can stay with her."

"Okay. Yeah. I, uh, just have to make some calls... move things around. I'll call you tonight."

"Talk to you then, Lise."

Cuddy hung up the phone, wiped the tears from her face, and began canceling her appointments for the next few days.

* * *

It was a cold rainy night. She was alone in his "bachelor pad." It smelled of cigarette smoke. There were dishes in the sink, a still damp towel on the bathroom floor, and a clothes hamper full of dirty laundry.

Cuddy sat down at his kitchen table. An open pack of cigarettes sat there with a lighter next to it. She picked up the cigarette pack and turned it over in her hand. She pulled one out and set the pack on the table while she examined the single cigarette.

It was Marlboro. The same brand he had smoked ever since she could remember. Cuddy picked up the lighter and put the cigarette to her lips. She lit it and took a drag from it.

She exhaled, coughing slightly. She cleared her throat and inhaled on the cigarette again.

"What are you doing, Lisa?" she said to herself, smoke flowing from her mouth with her words.

Cuddy shook her head and set the cigarette in the ash tray, her eyes filling with tears. Why was she doing this? All those years of keeping her word on not smoking and now she was breaking it three days after his death.

Then again, he was supposed to still be here. She needed him to be here because he was too young to die. And she was not old enough to not need him anymore.

Yes, she was an adult living her own life, but wasn't he supposed to be there if she got married? If she had a baby? Wasn't he supposed to walk her down the aisle and read to her children?

It was her fault, she reckoned, as she picked up the cigarette and took another drag. She was the one not getting married. She was the one not having children. It wasn't his fault his heart stopped working.

Cuddy pressed the lit end of the cigarette into the ash tray, crushing it while she put it out. She stood from the chair and took a look around. Dory had agreed to clean out their father's apartment since Cuddy convinced her she really couldn't take off anymore days from work.

But she could. She just knew she wouldn't be able to deal with getting rid of her father's things.

It was a task Dory was strong enough for, a task Dory wouldn't mind doing herself since she'd never really felt she connected with her father that much when he was alive. She loved him and she knew he loved her, but she felt this was one last thing she could do for him. Cuddy didn't want that responsibility.

She left the apartment, not looking back and trying to shut out her feelings as she shut the door.

Three weeks later, she thought she might fully be coming to terms with his death. No, she wasn't over it, but she was beginning to be able to function without thinking about him so often. She wasn't crying as much and she was finding it easier to get on with her life knowing he would never be in it again.

And sometimes, especially at night, she would miss him, knowing she couldn't talk to him, hear his laugh, or just be with him. And during those times, she would retrieve his last pack of cigarettes that she had taken from his apartment and had hidden in the top drawer of her dresser.

She would flip the top open and count the remaining seven cigarettes, taking in the scent of them and remembering him for everything he was and wasn't.


End file.
